For Roxy...

The aloe on the sill is always drooping
always thirsty, and restless as a sand dune
simply asking for a word of sympathy
and a little squirt of certainty.

But friend, there is certainly always never enough.
And where is your spirit, your life-breath?
Ever-hopeful twinkle
lathering assurance, soothing
even when the oven door
burns a wrist again?

It seems you're forever in the business of asking
asking, asking
so, I'm asking you --
Where is your joy?

Aren’t you the salve-of-the-earth mender?
Sometimes it’s wearisome to think
but I do,
and with good reason.